I felt completely overwhelmed.

Passing also through Mimi's room, Papa opened the door of the bedroom,
and we entered. The two windows on the right were curtained over, and
close to them was seated, Natalia Savishna, spectacles on nose and
engaged in darning stockings. She did not approach us to kiss me as she
had been used to do, but just rose and looked at us, her tears beginning
to flow afresh. Somehow it frightened me to see every one, on beholding
us, begin to cry, although they had been calm enough before.

On the left stood the bed behind a screen, while in the great arm-chair
the doctor lay asleep. Beside the bed a young, fair-haired and
remarkably beautiful girl in a white morning wrapper was applying ice to
Mamma's head, but Mamma herself I could not see. This girl was "La
Belle Flamande" of whom Mamma had written, and who afterwards played so
important a part in our family life. As we entered she disengaged one
of her hands, straightened the pleats of her dress on her bosom, and
whispered, "She is insensible." Though I was in an agony of grief, I
observed at that moment every little detail.

It was almost dark in the room, and very hot, while the air was heavy
with the mingled, scent of mint, eau-de-cologne, camomile, and Hoffman's
pastilles. The latter ingredient caught my attention so strongly that
even now I can never hear of it, or even think of it, without my memory
carrying me back to that dark, close room, and all the details of that
dreadful time.

Mamma's eyes were wide open, but they could not see us. Never shall I
forget the terrible expression in them--the expression of agonies of
suffering!

Then we were taken away.

When, later, I was able to ask Natalia Savishna about Mamma's last
moments she told me the following:

"After you were taken out of the room, my beloved one struggled for a
long time, as though some one were trying to strangle her. Then at last
she laid her head back upon the pillow, and slept softly, peacefully,
like an angel from Heaven. I went away for a moment to see about her
medicine, and just as I entered the room again my darling was throwing
the bedclothes from off her and calling for your Papa. He stooped over
her, but strength failed her to say what she wanted to. All she could
do was to open her lips and gasp, 'My God, my God! The children, the
children!' I would have run to fetch you, but Ivan Vassilitch stopped
me, saying that it would only excite her--it were b